


A Shared Dream

by makeuswise



Category: Newsies - All Media Types, Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Angst, Fluff and Angst, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Nightmares, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Sexism, not between them though
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 20:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15104588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makeuswise/pseuds/makeuswise
Summary: Albert has a nightmare and goes to Race to talk about it.For pieronpointe on tumblr who won my fic contest!!





	A Shared Dream

Albert wakes up in a cold sweat. He looks around frantically, jostling his brothers on either side. One smacks him half heartedly, rolling over and taking the blanket with him. Albert forces himself to take a deep breath, holding it until his lungs burn, releases it and sucks in another. He just has to breathe. No problem. Just in and out slowly, slowly until he calms in his sitting position on the bed.

  
His eyes land on the open window, a cool summer breeze ruffling the thin curtains. It soothes him, the rhythmic movement of the fabric flapping in the wind. Cold air gives you nightmares, in the back of his mind, his mother’s voice repeats the old superstition she had held. The memory of her voice only serves to make him feel worse, breath coming out harsh until he can wind himself down again. In, out. In, out.

  
Finally he decides, fuck it, and carefully crawls out of the bed, disturbing his brothers as little as he can. He pulls on some shorts and a tank top, not bothering with proper clothing in his jittery state. He leaves the room as quietly as he can, shutting the door with only the barest click. He makes his way slowly through the living room, staying close to the sparse furniture to make his footsteps as quiet as possible. He thanks whatever deity is out there when he gets out of the apartment without waking his father.

  
The night is warm but the breeze is cool, and Albert relishes the break from the oppressive summer heat. Luckily he remembered to slip on shoes before he left this time, because there’s shattered glass at the street corner and he knows how much it sucks to have to dig shards out of your feet. He walks in a trance, mind still lost to the nightmare that’s plagued him for years. He feels stupid for still being bothered by it. He feels weak and stupid and it makes him so mad at himself that he gives himself a good knock on the head. Maybe if he hits enough he can knock the memories right out of it. If only.

  
The city is dead at this time of night, only the occasional person walking by or the rare carriage passing. Albert savors the relative solitude, gazing at the stars as his feet carry him the familiar route. It’s a bit of a walk to his destination, a good portion of Manhattan passing him by unobserved as he dreams of flying through the stars. Far away from all his problems, he’d be soaring through constellations, not a thought spared for the shitty life he left behind.

  
Well. It’s not all shitty, he supposes. He has his friends and his brothers and his maybe-boyfriend. But he lives in a world where he’ll never be able to hold his kind-of-boyfriend’s hand in public, or kiss him in the park, or even call him his boyfriend aloud to another soul on earth. And his brothers are growing up without a mother, and his friends get their asses beaten on the regular just for existing in the same space as the Delanceys. He tries to stay positive, he really does, but when you’ve seen your friends beat down by the bulls who were sworn to protect and serve them, it’s pretty damn hard.

  
When he reaches the newsies’ boarding house, he doesn’t bother with the front door and heads straight for the fire escape. He sends up another thank you to the nameless deity watching over him when he sees a familiar figure a few floors up. There’s really no way to climb a fire escape quietly, but Albert does his best. Just because he can’t sleep doesn’t mean he should wake up the rest of the guys.

  
When he reaches the right landing, he stops to look. Race is there in profile, lit only by the stars and the weak remnants of a street light. His nose is straight and striking, cheekbones exaggerated by the dim lighting. His blue eyes are usually bright and clear, but now they’re mostly pupil, struggling to see through the darkness, though it doesn’t seem like he’s looking at anything in particular. He’s just staring straight ahead, oblivious to Albert’s presence, lost in his thoughts as a cigar burns away between his fingers. Though Albert could probably sit here and stare at him until the sun comes up and be perfectly content, he decides to make himself known.

  
“You gonna share?” he asks, startling Race so badly the cigar slips from his fingers. Without a thought, Albert reaches out and snatches it out of the air. By some miracle, he doesn’t burn himself, and he takes a drag as Race finally meets his eyes.

  
“Guess so,” Race says with a wry laugh. Albert smiles and puffs the smoke out in Race’s face. Race’s brows and mouth scrunch up like he shoved a whole lemon in his mouth again, waving his hand around to disperse the cloud. He plucks the cigar from Albert’s hand, turning back to lean against the railing. Albert joins him, leaning his forearms on the railing, bent at the waist. They stand in silence for an indeterminate amount of time, passing the cigar between them with casual familiarity. Only when the cherry is down to his fingers does Race flick it off the edge to the ground below and speak up.

  
“Same nightmare?” he asks, already sure of the answer. Albert nods the affirmative.

  
“Same wit’ you?” he asks, not even needing to look to know Race is nodding yes. Race has told him about the dream before, about the fear of his mother finding him again, taking him away from his friends and keeping him trapped. The memory of cigarettes burning his skin away, of slaps and hair pulled out by the roots and deep purple bruises perpetually beat into his skin. Albert can’t relate, but he can sympathize, can assure Race that not even God himself could take him away from them. So he does.

  
“I’d get in a fistfight with the Lord our savior himself ‘fore I let anyone take you away,” he says, all unwavering conviction. It gets a small smile from Race, who ducks his head and huffs a soft laugh at the hyperbole. God may be all powerful, but Albert is scrappy and determined. Albert knocks their shoulders together once and Race knocks him back. He takes another cigar and a pack of matches from the waistband of his pajama bottoms, hands steady as he strikes the match and lights the end.

  
“But honest,” Albert adds as Race blows a plume of smoke into the air in front of them, “I ain’t lettin’ anything happen to you. No one’s ever gonna hurt you like that again, not so long as I’m around.” Race meets his gaze, eyes soft and adoring. Something flutters in Albert’s chest and he clears his throat to settle it down. They lapse back into a comfortable silence, passing the new cigar between them. If their hands brush more than strictly necessary, well. That’s no one’s business but their own.

  
Albert stares at the brick wall across from them, looks up at the sky, stares out the side of his vision at Race. Even when he’s had the nightmare, he’s usually never this quiet, this pensive. Something else must have happened to make him this closed off.

  
“Talk to me,” Albert finally says, “What else happened?” Race stares hard at the brick wall and his hands tighten into fists. He takes a moment to breathe harshly before speaking.

  
“Was different this time ‘round,” Race says, hunched over like a cat with its hackles raised, “You were there.” He was there? In what capacity? Was he hurting Race too?

  
“The bulls, they--” Albert can’t be sure in the low light, but he thinks Race is blushing, “--they caught us Al, kissin’. Took me back to my ma, but--” another short pause, “--they soaked ya. Real bad. Wasn’t-sure-you-was-still-breathing bad.” Albert is silent at the confession, hit hard by the fact that the scenario was entirely possible. They didn’t take well to guys kissing guys around here. Or anywhere. Bitter anger bubbles up in Albert’s chest where the fluttering used to be, flushing his pale cheeks and kicking up his heart rate. Why couldn’t the world mind its own damn business and let them alone? Why can’t the world see the way he feels for Race is more pure and strong than anything he’d muster up for a girl? Why did they have to hide, to pretend, to lie just because nobody knows well enough to let them be?

  
“Al,” Race calls him name gently, pulling his attention back to the present, “ It’s alright. We’s both here and ain’t nobody gonna keep us apart.” Albert takes a deep breath, focuses on Race’s hand squeezing his bare arm. The contact is grounding and Albert pulls himself out of his head. What really mattered, in the great scheme of things, is that he’s here with the boy he might actually love, sharing cigars and nightmares and comfort. What really matters is Race, by his side, looking at him like he’s the only thing in the world.

  
“Yeah,” Albert agrees, squeezing the hand squeezing his arm. Albert drops his hand and Race follows suit, though he moves his hand down to tangle their fingers together. The fluttering battles with the rage for the space inside Albert’s chest. Race’s thumb rubs soothingly against the back of Albert’s hand and he looks at him like Albert is the most perfect thing he’s ever seen, and the fluttering kicks the anger to the curb.

  
“Mine’s about my ma,” he says carefully, breaking eye contact, “The bulls is having at her, just using her and tossing her around and there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop it.” He’s never told anyone about the dream, never dared to speak the words out loud, “Then they leave but I’s still frozen. And my ma, she-- she grabs this knife outta nowhere. And she’s looking right at me and she don’t say nothin’ but I can see it in her eyes, that it’s my fault, that I should have stopped them, that this is all cause of me.” Tears are falling faster than he can scrub them away and he feels like a dumb little kid crying over scraped knees on the playground, “And she does it, and there’s blood everywhere, and I still can’t move, I can only watch as she fades away.” It’s part memory, part dream, his mind filling in the blanks between him leaving for work and coming home to find her on the living room floor. Sure, she was a prostitute, and that was illegal, but nobody deserves what those bulls did to her. No one deserves to cry their way through a sin like that while their son hides in the closet. Hides like a coward while someone hurts the woman who gave him life.

  
Race hold him, rubs his back as he cries and hiccups and gasps for breath. Albert tries to focus on the hand tracing circles into his back, but the pain is so urgently demanding to be felt. Sometimes things demand to be felt and there’s nothing you can do but hold on and hope you come out the other side with your heart intact. When, finally, his head clears and his eyes dry, Race is there, murmuring soothing nonsense into his shoulder. Albert feels like a child and he hates it. He’s a man and he shouldn’t be crying about anything, let alone something so many years old.

  
“You gonna be okay?” Race asks, pulling back to look Albert in his puffy, red eyes. Albert wipes the snot from his nose with the back of his hand and nods. He’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He has to be fine. Race leans in slowly, giving him time to move away, but Albert would never reject him, not even if his life depended on it. Their lips press together gently, soft and innocent in a way he never expected two men to be capable of. They exchange small kisses, Race’s hand resting on his left cheek, stroking slowly in such a tender gesture that his heart aches. Albert pulls back, partially for air and partially to just look at Race. His face is half shadows and half yellow light, his pupils dilated for a different reason. Albert can almost see the black eye Race got during the strike in his mind’s eye, will probably never forget the sight of him getting his ass beat for the cause. It’s completely healed by now, but the weeks of the black, purple, blue, yellowing bruises haunt him.

  
“We gonna talk about this?” Race asks, lips brushing Albert’s as he speaks. Rather than speak, Albert kisses him again, chaste presses of lips that he hopes can express what he’s sure he’ll fuck up with words.

  
“That’s not an answer,” Race breathes against his lips, still moving in and out to kiss him even as he requests speech. Like Albert could form a coherent thought with Race so close. Their bodies are warm together, almost stifling in the summer warmth. The breeze is their only saving grace, keeping them cool enough that they can stay pressed chest-to-chest without sweating and ruining the moment.

  
“What’s to talk about?” Albert asks, bumping Race’s nose with his own. Race butts their foreheads together gently in return, laying a few more smokey kisses on Albert before answering.

  
“What is this?” he asks, as close to shy as Albert has ever heard him, “What is we?” Race’s hands are on his hips now, keeping him close and starting to move him in time with a beat only Race can hear. They sway together for a good while, just holding each other and breathing the same air as a million and one thoughts run through Albert’s head. It’s not that he doesn’t know what he wants this to be, what he wants them to be, but what if Race isn’t on the same page? What if he lays out his cards on the table and Race laughs him out of the room? How does he say, “yeah, I’ve been in love with you long as I can remember and I don’t know what I’d do if we was ever parted” without sounding like some kind of girl? It’s not a question he can answer, but he needs to answer Race at some point. So he just goes for it.

  
“Well, I uh,” he starts, eloquently, “I love you.” Saying the words leaves him feeling emboldened and he continues with a growing smile on his face.  
“I love you, Racetrack Higgins,” he says, stopping their swaying to look Race in the eyes, “I love you an’ I wanna be with you, no matter what.” A matching smile splits Race’s face, and he kisses Albert deeply, technique abandoned for passion.

  
“I love you too, Al,” he says when they part, both breathless, “I want you to be my boyfriend.” They’ve shared everything with each other. Their dreams, their nightmares, their fears and hopes and every inane thought that came to mind. They know each other inside and out, good and bad and ugly. They know the innermost workings of each other’s psyche and they still came out wanting to be together. What more could you need to know someone is your soulmate?

  
“I wanna be your boyfriend,” Albert responds in time, kissing Race soundly as the rising sun paints them in shades of orange and gold.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!! As always, all comments/critiques/corrections are welcome. Also a huge shoutout to my friend Foster for helping me edit!


End file.
